


Boredom's Prey

by Kisuru



Category: X -エックス- | X/1999
Genre: Come Marking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exhibitionism, Fingers in Mouth, Hand Jobs, Human Furniture, Large Cock, M/M, Mind Games, Paranoia, Psychological Trauma, Public Sex, Rape, Riding, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spanking, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/pseuds/Kisuru
Summary: Recently, things have been going rather well for Kamui. One night, everything changes when the Sakurazukamori enters his bedroom late at night. He never expected for him to come after him—and it doesn't stop. Luckily, he still has Yuzuriha's friendship, but he isn't sure he can protect her even that when things escalate.And to think, the only reason it starts is because Fuuma is tired of Seishirou constantly being upset. So he puts him up to the task.





	Boredom's Prey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsDragon/gifts).



Deep within the confines of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building’s basement, Seishirou inhaled an exhaustive breath of air, thoroughly annoyed that he had to clear his (not so) busy schedule for the meeting.  
  
He didn’t particularly want to be here. However, dismissing a direct meeting was prohibited, and he wasn’t in any mood to be reprimanded. Whatever the issue was, Seishirou was certain he could deal with it efficiently and then disappear from the picture until he was needed again.  
  
He stepped into the large room. None of the other Angels were present except the outline of their leader, ‘Kamui’, sitting in the back of the room. Fuuma folded his hands on the desk when he saw him, grinning wickedly.  
  
His eagerness was flawless, but Seishirou was even less impressed than before walking in.  
  
“What’s the task at hand?” Seishirou asked, skipping formalities. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, frowning, clear that he was listening but preferred the news be brief.  
  
“You’re never fun,  Sakurazukamori. You can stand to loosen up a little. We’ll all die soon anyway,” Fuuma replied with a long-suffering sigh. Nonetheless, he leaned forward. He placed his chin on his open palms. A glint of mischief flashed through his cold eyes. “In any case, since you so kindly asked. . . .”  


* * *

  
  
Kamui stretched his arms above his head. His body ached but he didn’t feel as though the was set on fire for the first time in a while. For once, he felt fairly accomplished, and his day had gone without a single hitch! Now, the chores were done, homework (unbelievably) completed, and he had even talked more to the other Seals more than usual that day.  
  
All things considered, it was a bright spot.  
  
Sometimes staying cooped up at home was too much. So, Kamui went out into the city and browsed the shops despite that he wasn’t in near contact with the other Seals every five minutes. Fuuma hadn’t taunted to kill him as often recently and the kekkai were peaceful. Sometimes he worried about that, but Kamui found it refreshing to have freedom.  
  
Kamui tossed aside the T-shirt he had worn that day laying across his bed. It was new, another testament to his happiness. Tokyo fashion had significantly changed in the years he had been gone and he wouldn’t have the luxury to simply enjoy that otherwise.  
  
Buying something for himself was nice.  
  
He slipped under the duvet and pulled the duvet up to his chin. Tonight, he would have an excellent sleep to compliment his day. The waves of darkness pulled him in, and Kamui was asleep within a matter of moments.  


* * *

  
Gracefully, Seishirou landed on the roof small thatch of roof outside Kamui’s window. With a final check of his power and peek inside, he nodded to himself self-assured of his target.  
  
The imonoyama mansion had dedicated wards surrounding it, but he would be a respectable house guest and not destroy the Seals’ rest in the middle of the night. Instead of bashing the ward, he allowed his sakura to gently chip away at it one at a time. Finally after the ward broke down considerably, he reined the sakura in. Then, he pushed the window open and carefully swung his leg over the panel.  
  
He approached the bed, and his shadow loomed above Kamui. Nodding to himself, he wondered how long it would take for him to wake. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Bored within seconds, he struck the cigarette with his lighter and lifted a cigarette to his waiting lips. To his surprise, the teenager’s face was serene in the realm of sweet dreams, although he supposed he usually saw him while he was screaming in agonizing pain. Things had to even out once and a while.  
  
Why did he have to do this? He didn’t have any personal interest in him. Well, he hadn’t been especially into playing with him. Yet again, this Kamui, the real Kamui that had fought him to protect that light-haired girl, was incredibly pretty upon closer inspection.  
  
Seishirou had never paid much attention to the sharp curve of his nose or chin. Kamui’s eyelashes fluttered while he slept, and he imagined the bright violet eyes underneath. Indeed, he was delightfully fragile.  
  
He traced his cheek and admired that beauty. Perhaps he could get into this more than he first thought. His ‘Kamui’ had been clear that he should have a good time. And wouldn’t it be lovely to see see such a pretty face cry?  
  
Kamui’s dream was interrupted, and suddenly, the soft duvet around him became apparent. He groaned—it had been a rather nice dream. However, his body went on high alert, and he wasn’t sure what it was that sent him on edge. He blinked once, twice, and blurrily looked up at a hand that hovered above his face. He sat upright, jaw falling once he saw him.  
  
“Good evening, Kamui-chan,” Seishirou greeted him, smiling pleasantly. The not-so-hidden mocking, silky smooth voice sent a jolt down Kamui’s spine like a bolt of lightning.  
  
Kamui bristled. His brain didn’t register the Angel at first, and as soon as he did, he was off. Kamui forced his sleep-laden limbs to jump up. He stood on the bed. Seishirou was just in time to dodge a flying blast of energy. To Kamui’s dismay, the blast smashed into his desk, toppling everything on it to the floor and blowing up his papers and books. Pages fluttered to the floor. No time to dwell on it. He skidded back on the duvet, gathered more energy, and fired. The air around him rippled and swayed in his outright fear and anger.  
  
How dare he—what was he doing here—why was he touching him!? Revolted, Kamui’s stomach twisted, and he fell to his knees. He searched the room for the nearest exit; his window was wide open and ready for him to fly out of, but his bedroom door was currently shut and would take a minute to unlock.  
  
All he knew was, he couldn’t destroy the mansion like this. He had to get somewhere less crowded where he could fight properly.  
  
Seishirou grabbed a few ofuda from his pocket. The blasts of energy admittedly pushed him back. In Kamui’s tired haze, however, the ofuda were able to counter block his powerful attacks. In a blaze of light, the entire flares of energy dissipated.  
  
Before Kamui could react further, Seishirou reached through his shield and grabbed his wrist. Kamui yanked on him to escape. With a sliver success, he punched Seishirou in the face and shoulder. His foot connected to his side. Despite his struggle, Seishirou’s mere strength pinned him down to the bed. Kamui squirmed. He could get out of it if he wanted, but his thoughts caught up with him. Even now, he had no idea what he was trying to do to him. Consequently, he should have had plenty of time to kill him if that had been the goal. Shouldn’t he have done so already?  
  
The bed dipped under Seishirou’s weight. He held onto Kamui’s wrist. Amused, he rubbed the spot on his face he had hit. It burned and stung. Wonderful. He had been worried he would be like putty in his hands and just accept it, much like Kamui usually was with his ‘Kamui’. He appreciated the effort.  
  
“I’m impressed,” Seishirou told him honestly. “Well, that you didn’t burst into tears.”  
  
Kamui shot him a dirty look. He panted, planning his next move. “What do you want from me?” he growled, warily. “I was having a good day until your ugly face showed up.” He scooted backwards, hands raised, ready for him to attack. Being alone wasn’t ideal, but he would have to deal with this. Why was no one else coming? Had the Sakurazukamori done something to the room to prevent the Seals from recognizing their fight?  
  
Seishirou leaned closer and glowered at him. Kamui’s eyes widened, knowing this must be the end of his miserable life. Of course he would die as soon as things improved. Kamui inwardly gulped, but he didn’t show that, trying to stand his ground where he was.  
  
“Do you want me?” he asked, breath sultry and deliberate against Kamui’s cheek. He licked his lips, eyes narrowed at him. “I see the way you look at our ‘Kamui’ wantonly. Don’t you think it would be better to get rid of some of that pent-up sexual tension?”  
  
Truly, he couldn’t believe his own words. He had only ever similar things to his Sumeragi counterpart, but those assertions had been sweet-nothings. Asking like this was… quite enlightening. Slowly, he was getting more and more into this, and Kamui’s brashness and reluctance turned him on all the more.  
  
Alarm bells blared in Kamui’s brain. Thoroughly disgusted, he downright wondered if he _should_ kill him. The horror of stooping to his level made his head spin.  
  
“Hell no!” Kamui sputtered. He shoved Seishirou’s chest and swatted Seishirou’s hand. The Sakurazukamori’s clench was too impossibly iron-clad for him to remove.  
  
Seishirou chuckled. Like this, he was cute. To Kamui’s surprise, though, Sakurazukamori didn’t make another move to injure him. A hint of a smirk wandered over his face.  
  
“That’s unfortunate,” Seishirou stated. He hummed to himself. He rolled the cigarette between his fingertips. What was the most precious thing to him? His friends, the ones he had set a ward against hearing them? Well, they may be safe for the night, but. . . . “If you don’t agree, I might have to take out my frustration on someone else you know.”  
  
Kamui shivered. His mouth opened, close, then did the same thing a few more times.  
  
“Keep this between us,” Kamui said. “You wouldn’t do that. They won’t let you.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll valiantly try to fight me, but you can’t be optimistic about these things in a battle for the world,” Seishirou agreed as if he were a child he had to explain a difficult concept to. “No one is a challenge for me.” He rotated through the many Dragons of Heaven. Besides his Subaru-kun, who was the closest to him? Ah, yes. “The cheerful girl with the inugami. Shame if something happened to her. Yes, don’t you think she’d look quite lovely with blood splatter covering?”  
  
Kamui choked, aghast. With every fiber of his will-power, he had to bring himself _not_ to lash out at the bastard for insinuating he would do such an unforgivable thing. The threat was real. He once again aimed for his face, but Seishirou caught that wrist, too, the tip of his cigarette touching his skin. Kamui howled at the contact, the burn hot on his cool skin. A few tears welled up in his eyes out of reflex.  
  
“No? You’re a hard bargainer, Kamui- _chan_ ,” he repeated the cutesy honorific, emphasizing the lack of power he held in this situation. At this stage, he was perfectly aware that Kamui would bow to his wishes. Actually, he had to hit the final nail in the coffin to seal the deal. “How about . . . Is there anyone else? I can kill my side’s ‘Kamui’. You call him Fuuma.”  
  
Kamui’s stomach dropped. Guilty, he felt bad he didn’t have that reaction for Yuzuriha, but Fuuma was another matter. Always, he had worked to cleanse Fuuma from staying the monster he was, and Fuuma was irrecplacebly special. Without him, he lost everything. He hadn’t expected that unpredictable curveball.  
  
“You couldn’t leave a scratch on him.” Though, he wasn’t positive of anything anymore. “He wouldn’t let you hurt him.” Despite all that he had been through with Fuuma, Kamui was oddly proud of that fact. Fuuma’s strength was the only thing he believed in, and he didn’t need protection. “He will kill you.”  
  
“Don’t you remember who you’re talking to?” Seishirou shook his head, feigning sadness. Watching his aggressiveness progressively dissipate was a treat. Kamui’s nose twitched at the tobacco on his breath, and the smug arrogance in his eyes. He wasn’t ruffled or remorseful in the least. “I’m this city’s esteemed Sakurazukamori. I’ve been killing people since before you were born.”  
  
As much as Kamui hated to admit it, the Sakurazukamori . . . had a point. He could not imagine how many years, or the number of people, he had slaughtered. He had only a fraction of an idea that wasn’t absolute.  
  
Ever since Kamui had made his choice Fuuma had been an invincible force. It just didn’t seem possible to bulldoze over that.  
  
“But he’s . . . you. . . .” Appropriate words were lost on Kamui’s tongue. He didn’t know what to believe anymore—trumping Fuuma’s sadism would take a miracle. On the other hand, the Sakurazukamori was a seasoned, hardened version of that bloodthirst.  
  
Seeing his hesitation, Seishirou mocked him by offering an insouciant look, unfeeling for the fate of his own leader. Being unable to survive a fight disqualified the ‘Kamui’ of the Dragons of Earth from being worthy. He stroked Kamui’s wrist to reaffirm his control. He finally had him where he wanted him.  
  
Satisfied that he had won—that grip over him pumped Seishirou’s blood farther in his veins, the chase he had his prey where he couldn’t escape—he tossed the cigarette on the floor. He laid back on the bed to make it easier for himself and gave him a commanding glance.  
  
“You’ll follow the instructions I give you, won’t you?” Seishirou asked him.  
  
Kamui grit his teeth. He mumbled a word that sounded like a faint “yes” but was more like a garbled moan. Seishirou leaned his head back, and Kamui hit the bed, wondering what he was even doing with his life to end up here.  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” he spat.  
  
Ah, what music to the ears.  
  
Seishirou lifted his legs and spread them at a decent length. He patted his knee. Kamui glanced from the space between his legs to his face, and then back again quickly, body screaming at the thought of having to go through with this. Before he could process it further, the Sakurazukamori yanked his wrist and pulled him over his leg. Kamui tumbled over his right leg and bumped against his left leg, trapping him in his web further.  
  
Unbalanced, Kamui planted his hand on Seishirou’s leg, gripping onto the silky fabric of his trousers. Despite himself, he looked down at him, fully aware the man laid exactly where he had been resting only moments prior. Seishirou pressed his hand on his stomach, and then lower, until Kamui’s hand brushed the hardening cock under the surface and settled on his hip. Kamui’s body went rigid. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to detach himself, failing terribly.  
  
“I don’t have all day,” Seishirou snapped. In the dim moonlit room he spotted the pain written all over his face. An idea struck. “And open your eyes. You need to see.”  
  
Doing everything himself wasn’t fun. The helplessness was the best part of it to relish in, the way his heart broke day with each action. Here, he would have a lasting memory of this. Seishirou couldn’t think of anything more delicious than that; there was nothing sweeter than forcing a constant onslaught of illusions that would plague him every time he visited this room from now on without him.  
  
Finding his resolve, Kamui began to reach for his fly. Seishirou pulled back his hand.  
  
“Not your hand,” Seishirou clarified.  
  
Without his hand, how was he supposed to . . . Seishirou’s fingers were suddenly in his mouth, and he held Kamui’s chin in his hand. His fingers were rough, and scabrous with little bruises from surely murdering people. The pad of Seishirou’s middle finger nudged between his teeth and opened his mouth wider. The rough patches scraped his lips. Kamui’s tongue licked his finger, and he gagged, drawing his tongue all the way back: he tasted like tobacco, sakura, and the odd taste chocolate or some pastry cream.  
  
Kamui had half a mind to bite down and make him _bleed._ Surely, that would only be a flesh wound and his efforts would be for naught. But Seishirou forced him to bow his head.  
  
Kamui’s cheeks flushed. Not out of embarrassment, but unbridled shame. Opening his eyes was a challenge akin to having to use pliers. Finally, Seishirou’s fingers fell from his mouth. His teeth latched onto the fly of Seishirou’s pants. It was a struggle to get the zipper in his mouth, but he bite down hard enough to situate it properly. Fumbling, he unzipped him, the sound of the metal loud and intrusive echoing in his ears.  
  
And the smug bastard knew how involved it was, rather than to use his own hands.  
  
The _heat_ caused Kamui dizziness. His hand cupped him, and he carefully pulled him out, his hand sliding on the smooth skin. Seishirou bucked into his hand, and Kamui shivered. This was it. Turning back was not an option.  
  
Kamui’s hand went and down, finding purchase. It was dry, and he didn’t know where he should exactly touch to make it ‘good’—his much more innocent attempts to do this had always been amateurish! But to his (or not really) relief Seishirou didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, he was ever-charmed at his youthful inexperience. He continued to buck into his hand for extra stimulation.  
  
“Both hands,” Seishirou ordered.  
  
Lifting his head around his shaft, Kamui wrapped his other hand around the base, which milked a small gasp of pleasure from Seishirou’s lips. He pushed his hand down around him. The more he stroked him and touched every inch, the more he throbbed, the vein under his hands as well, pulsating. He didn’t feel as though he had hit the right rhythm, either; the cock was large in his slender and somewhat sweaty hands, the heavy weight and girth still a perfect fit.  
  
And it was . . . so strange. He hated him. But fire bubbled up deep within him. A coil turned in his lower body, and his chest constricted. He fidgeted at the intense wave of arousal, body betraying him. He didn’t want this at all! Why would he feel anything, least of all—  
  
Seishirou gripped at his shirt sleeve. He forced him to lean closer. “Did I say you could stop?” Kamui had retreated within his own thoughts. Yet again, his eyes were darker in the dim light and his lips pulled back with an almost carnal snarl. He was shivering. “Don’t tell me you like it more than you let on?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Kamui hissed, and he went back to action, gripping him tighter than previously. He thought it would hurt, but Seishirou threw his head back, relishing in the additional clench of his skin on top of his hot flesh.  
  
Kamui’s hands traveled up and down. The journey was hard, but there were no other instructions, and he moved. Eventually, he realized his wrists helped him quicker, which pleased Seishirou a great deal, and he breathlessly pumped him with the flick of his wrists each way like a screwdriver. The whole time he (willed himself to forget) ignored the churn of arousal that stirred within him. Now, he hated himself on top of the man under him.  
  
His fingers dipped past Seishirou’s trousers and wrapped around one of his balls. He stroked it, not knowing here especially how much pressure to apply, the skin already stiff. Seishirou grunted and lifted his hips farther. Then, he raked his hands back up towards his shaft and foreskin. The tip was slick and swollen and immediately soiled his skin.  
  
No, Kamui couldn’t think about that.  
  
Deciding to keep up the response there, Kamui moved hands up and down his shaft and tip with the roughness Seishirou desired, his shoulders getting into the movement. His fingers hooked under his foreskin and used the beads of pre-come to accelerate himself.  
  
Meanwhile, Seishirou spasmed, his balls twitching and cock hanging near the verge of its precipice. Kamui’s unblemished, tender skin brought him closer to his peak without the help of technique on his side. To think, he was responsible for the corruption of someone so unacquainted with these matters—ah, yes, damn it was perfect. He thrusted up into his hand once, twice, until the sumptuous wave of his orgasm coursed throughout his body.  
  
Ropes of hot come crisscrossed Kamui’s face, hair, and top of his night T-shirt. Some of it even dripped into his mouth, and he coughed to rid of in a futile effort, his hands and face too dirty to wipe if off without smearing more. He winced, anger that he allowed . . . had _helped_ . . . bring upon this fate to himself. The sheen of tears that prickled at the back of his eyes shimmered. The come seemed to scorch his body, and he wanted to wipe it off, off, _off,_ but Kamui didn’t know what he’d do if he did too soon. Would he make him wait to do it again if he made even a minor mistake? Come dripped down his cheek and chin.  
  
Seishirou put both hands behind his head and smirked at him. Kamui’s power wasn’t the only thing which was truly “divine” like that—covered in his semen, defeated, lost and confused about what to do. Overstaying his welcome wouldn’t be a good idea, and this was a sight for sore-eyes to leave off on.  
  
To Kamui’s surprise, the Sakurazukamori pushed him backwards by the shoulders. He rolled back onto the duvet. When he glanced up to retaliate (screw fucking _everything_!), Kamui paused. A small shower of sakura swirled around his headboard. The only real evidence he anything had taken place was the tepid evening breeze from the window.  


* * *

  
Kamui idly poked at his lunch. Little smudges of mayo surrounded his sandwich on the plate, mimicking his wandering thoughts. A mushed fry leaked out potato between his fingers.  
  
Now, he was situated in the mansion’s kitchen during broad daylight. Yet he still felt cold from the event only a few days ago. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. Each time he attempted banishing the memory of his smug face, Seishirou returned with a vicious force, taunting him at every single turn.  
  
Right then, Yuzuriha bounced into the kitchen. Humming to herself merrily, she beelined towards the refrigerator. She opened the freezer and shuffled through the items.  
  
“I thought we had some leftover,” she said, voice muffled with her head inside. “Didn’t we go grocery shopping the other day?”  
  
Even now, Kamui wouldn’t be surprised if the Sakurazukamori burst in through the front door. He didn’t seem concerned that this was the Dragons of Heaven’s place of operation. More so, he had broken into his bedroom. He should tell someone so they could beef up security, but the moment had passed. He was too terrified to admit succumbing to him—the level of precaution the Dragons of Heaven undoubtable would smother him in would ruin his current chances at being “normal” again.  
  
Perhaps it was only a one-time thing; the Sakurazukamori wasn’t exactly the type to stick around without interest. How fascinating can he still possibly be after using him?  
  
Disappointed, Yuzuriha sighed. She snapped the freezer shut. She was about to sit across from him, and she brightened, slapping her hand down in front of Kamui. He jumped.  
  
“Hey!” Yuzuriha said. “It’s sunny, and the perfect day for something cold to hit the spot. Do you want to go out for ice cream?”  
  
“Uh. . . .” Kamui blinked up at her, baffled at the non-sequitur of his broding. Yuzuriha’s usual bout of cheerfulness was foreign to him in light of his mind swaying bath and forth. “Wasn’t it on the grocery shopping list?”  
  
Yuzuriha shook her head. “That’s what I’m saying! I don’t know who ate it all. But I’m really, really in the mood for ice cream, and you look like you need a pick-me-up.”  
  
The same principles didn’t apply for him. He had cold chills down his spine, as though he had eaten a great deal of ice cream. The brain freeze was imminent, too. He didn’t particularly want to even stand up. Ice cream was the last thing he needed in his system.  
  
But her smile was cheerful. Staring at the ceiling like a broken log was disparaging. Was there a difference between the options? Above everything else that he didn’t want to happen, he didn’t want to disappoint her.  
  
Kamui scooted out of his chair and, wobbly, forced himself to stand. The bright sunlight cheered for him outside. “Yeah, let’s go.”  


* * *

  
The heat beat down on his head, and Kamui felt a little more energized. Walking around with Yuzuriha felt safer; at her side, Kamui’s sluggishness washed away, something that wouldn’t happen sitting at home with nothing to do besides wait for Keiichi to call him or something. Warily, Kamui glanced right to left, but Yuzuriha moved at such a brisk pace he didn’t have much time to dwell on scenery.  
  
For the most part, he should be safe on CLAMP Campus still. There were enough students outside that no one would bother causing trouble, and there was tight security (of which he didn’t know how they didn’t catch the problem—but illusions were nasty). Kamui allowed himself to relax until Yuzuriha lead him towards the outside gates.  
  
“Isn’t there a place we can go here at the school?” Kamui asked her, frowning, those words flooding back into his memory.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, shrugging without much thought to the question, “but there’s a new place I heard of, and I want to go try that instead.” Inuki looked up at her and seemed to sight at his mistress’ ever-need for fun adventures. “It’s really, really good!”  
  
Of course the ice cream outside was good.  
  
The moment they left the safety barrier of the school, Kamui’s certainty crashed. The hairs on the back of Kamui’s neck stood on end. Anywhere out here he could run into him. For that matter, any Dragons of Earth lurked Tokyo for their goals. Even with unrestrained powers backing Kamui up and his cramped room left behind, they were not invincible.  
  
The blood would drip easily, and she wouldn’t be able to run fast enough, and he wasn’t able to look away from the vision of her getting hit and the piercing screech.  
  
Kamui drew a sharp breath, and—  
  
“Oh my gosh. I didn’t know this was here. This is even better!” Yuzuriha squealed. She abruptly stopped and pointed to a queue of people waiting at a stand. She scanned the menu; various flavors and pictures of crepes colorfully decorated it. “I’m craving a crepe now that I’ve seen them. Let’s get these.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, I don’t mind,” Kamui said.  
  
Flinching, he clenched his fists. Right, the sooner they bought their snack, they can head back home for the time being. The TV was probably free at this time of the day. That was perfect way to ease his mind.  
  
“What do you want?” Yuzuriha asked. Her lips quirked as though she were making a tremendous decision and tapped a finger on flavor #32. “Blueberry jam for me!”  
  
“I guess.” Kamui picked the first thing that stood out to him on the menu. He didn’t have a taste for anything; the bitter sensation at the back of his throat was enough to strangle his enthusiasm. “I’ll go for cream cheese.”  
  
Soon enough, they were in front of the line and bought their respective crepes. Yuzuriha happily nibbled at the blueberry filling oozing out of hers, while Kamui shifted his waffle cone, gathering up the energy to take a bite out of it. It looked good, and he should be willing to try anything. He had offered to pay, but Yuzuriha _insisted,_ and he was more than wiling to enjoy a treat for Yuzuriha’s sake.  
  
And then the soft cone in his hand felt too round and long in his hand. His mind jerked to a stop like a train on glitched tracks, and he blinked at the cream cheese inside. It was white, creamy, and warm to the touch. There were colorful fruits but he only saw the white. It was like that night again, the taste of it in his mouth sending nausea up to his throat.  
  
The crepe dropped out of his hands and splattered on the asphalt. He breathed in, rapidly, unable to catch his breath. From the corner of his eye, he swore he spotted a shadow perched on a nearby building.  
  
Kamui didn’t know what it was, but it was black. The shadow was long, gaze unwavering towards their direction. All he knew was, he didn’t want to find out what it was. Urgently, he grabbed Yuzuriha’s hand and yanked her out of sight, running down a side street. He nearly bumped into the people around them. Still, he ran without looking back once.  
  
“Whoah—“ Yuzuriha struggled to keep up with him, easily panting. Inuki raced after them at her heels. She tugged on his hand but he refused to let go. He didn’t want one bad thing to go wrong. “Where are we going?”  
  
He didn’t know, and he didn’t care, but he had to get out of sight. Just not over _there_.  
  
Once they stopped running after what may as well have been an entire century, Kamui leaned up against a building and gasped. He didn’t see the shadow anywhere around.  
  
He released Yuzuriha’s hand. At that second, his hands were shaking. To his truer dismay, Yuzuriha’s hand was bare of her crepe. Equal dread and guilt boiled in his stomach; he had ruined her good day with him for no reason.  
  
Yuzuriha’s expression was puzzled rather than angry about losing her own crepe. Her eyes read a mixture of disappointment that she hadn’t eaten much of her crepe and concern Kamui might have gone crazy. “Did I do something wrong?” she carefully asked.  
  
Kamui slumped against the wall. Hollowly, he couldn’t help but laugh mirthlessly. He didn’t know what kind of answer to formulate, but her silent judging was all he could handle.  
  
When nothing came to chase them, Kamui’s heart ached at the realization there was no man in a trenchcoat waiting to ambush him.  


* * *

  
Even later, the thoughts plagued Kamui. The way he would see the outlines of things that weren’t there, and the way he envisioned the Sakurazukamori sneaking up on him. Some nights, he even slept outside of the other Dragon’s doors, too scared to be alone.  
  
The longer he waited, the harder it became. He saw the Sakurazukamori’s large outline anywhere he went. But how did he break that ice now—that he had been violated _and_ he hadn’t mentioned as such to them? Subaru would do something, but god, Kamui even knew that would lead to a death match.  
  
Karen would be too kind, and he hated the chance he may disappoint her, too.  
  
The one constant in his life was Yuzuriha’s presence. She had caught onto something that only she detected on him, and he was glad to have her energetic companionship. They spent more time after that together.  
  
“Do you want to go out shopping today?” she asked him one day. “I heard there’s a sale! It feels like Tokyo fashion keeps on changing.”  
  
Kamui wasn’t particularly sure how thrilled he would be searching for sparkly accessories and light summer dresses. Nonetheless, Yuzuriha never made anything just about her. She always spared time to let him look.  
  
Kamui hurriedly slid his homework back into his binder. “Wherever you want to go.”  
  
The option of “wherever” lead them to a large building of stores. Yuzuriha’s sparkled while she browsed the selection of shop windows, and Kamui toed the line behind her.  
  
“This is cute.” Yuzuriha picked a pink dress from a rack. “I’m not sure if it’s in my size.”  
  
Kamui wandered away from her. He spotted a display of sunglasses in many different lense shades and varieties. Once again, he was reminded of the Sakurazukamori’s dark sunglasses. As a disguise, he they would be a nice distraction. He didn’t know which exactly looked best, but he was drawn to a pair of blue-tinted ones, and the world resembled an underwater scene from a movie the moment they slipped on the bridge of his nose.  
  
After a while, Kamui decided to see whether Yuzuriha approved of them. If she did, he might buy them. He scanned the top of the close racks for her, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he ventured farther in the store to see if she was in a changing room.  
  
“Yuzuriha. . . .?” No answer. “Are you here?”  
  
Perhaps she had wandered into another store. Shrugging, he turned on his heel, but as soon as he did, he bumped directly into something hard. “I’m sorry—“ When he realized what it was, he sighed, relieved. “There you are, I was getting . . . Wait, why are you crying?”  
  
Yuzuriha stood before him, wiping her eyes. Kamui was puzzled. Tears screamed down her face, and she looked pained. He didn’t know what he had done to cause her to be upset.  
  
“Because we made a deal,” a deep baritone voice said, and there was a smile in his tone, “that I wouldn’t kill her, or you, as long as she cooperated and let me do what I want.”  
  
Kamui whipped around to face him. The from-a-far distance Seishirou had done until that moment paid off; Kamui glared at him with a mixture of contempt and terror. Seishirou nodded to himself, waving a hand in the air. Kamui searched for Inuki as their last hope (Yuzuriha was strong, but even if she erected her kekkai, they would have problems).  
  
The aim of the game wasn’t to take his prize quickly. Such a thing wouldn’t be worth savoring. He wanted Kamui to squirm, for his anxieties to build up and burst at the seams.  
  
It wasn’t best until the fruit ripened to attack, and the fruit was quite delicious, now.  
  
“The wolf is trapped in my illusion, so he can’t bother us,” Seishirou explained off-handedly.  
“And I thought you’d be happier to see me.”  
  
Chills went down Kamui’s spine at twice the strength as the first time he had ambushed him. Kamui gritted his teeth. Despite that he was in an open place, he couldn’t easily run, either. There were too many people around that would be caught in the crossfire.  
  
“I hope you enjoyed the last time as much as I did,” Seishirou practically purred. His hand grabbed Kamui’s arm, and he yanked him towards him. Kamui bumped into his chest, on reflex reaching out to punch him. But Seishirou avoided his blow from connecting.  
  
“You said you were going to leave her alone,” Kamui snapped at him. He couldn’t look at Yuzuriha, and he hated himself for letting this happen to her, for her having to die. . . .  
  
Seishirou sighed impatiently. “If there’s one thing I am, Kamui-chan, I’m not a liar.” He smiled politely at Yuzuriha. “I have no interest in hurting a hair on her head. She’s just going to . . . watch out for us.”  
  
Yuzuriha’s feet were planted to the floor, and she couldn’t look at them. Kamui didn’t know what the Sakurazukamori had told her, but the strain of lines down her face spoke volumes and she looked too tired to fight. But she didn’t move, either, and she looked like she may be planning to do _something_. While Kamui appreciated the effort, he didn’t want her to be in any way injured for him.  
  
“It’s okay,” Kamui told her, a lead weight pinning down his own frame, “just . . . listen to what he has to say. And I’ll take care of it.”  
  
“But I can’t do that!” Yuzuriha protested. Her voice carried, and she clasped her hands over her mouth. “I can’t do that, I can’t, I can’t.”  
  
Kamui bumped into a clothes rack behind him. He refused to look at him in the eyes, but Seishirou grabbed his wrists and pinned them behind his back. He circled him around and he knocked into the rack with a heavy clatter. The metal of the rack buried into his ribs.  
  
“If the girl isn’t enough,” Seishirou said, “remember, I know where ‘Kamui’ is. It wouldn’t take too long to find him.”  
  
Kamui didn’t have enough time to process the threat. Seishirou’s hands unlooped his belt, and suddenly his fingers were under his waistband, yanking his pants to the floor. The store’s cold air hit his lower body, and he shivered, clutching onto the rack for safety.  
  
Harsh, rugged wrapped around him, stroking him from the shaft to the base. Kamui’s mouth opened wide and caught off-guard. For a fraction of a second he had a view of Seishirou’s hand there, and he was no less merciful than he had forced Kamui to be. Soemthing once again stirred within Kamui’s body, but he fought it back, despite himself throwing his head back into his shoulder.  
  
“You like it, don’t you? Do you see what it felt like for me?” Seishirou whispered in his ear. He encircled his palm around his shaft and pumped him up and down. “See, isn’t it better than letting your friends die?”  
  
Kamui’s eyes squeezed shut. He tried to ignore the building tension. He didn’t know why, but his body was hotter, and he hated himself for that too. He hated it more than having given into doing the same before.  
  
Seishirou eyed him head to toe. With that, he pushed him to the floor. Kamui fell on his knees, hard, and Seishirou kicked away his clothes. The older man’s weight crashed onto his back and held him down to the floor. He sat on him, and the the scratchy fabric of the Sakurazukamori’s trousers on his lower back. Kamui gasped and nearly toppled into the dirty carpet. His hands buckled under him on the floor. He could barely sit up like that, or think of another way to escape.  
  
From the corner of his eye, he noted that Yuzuriha’s anguish turned into fear. Now, she was barely looking at them, her fingers splayed across her face half-open.  
  
Seishirou fisted a hand into his hair. He raised his hand, and struck Kamui on the bare ass, and Kamui yelped. It stung and burned; Kamui realized just how _strong_ he seriously was. The sound echoed in his ears.  
  
“You’re going to cooperate, aren’t you?” Seishirou asked. “This does look pathetic. Think about your friend’s feelings.”  
  
Like this, he barely was able to concentrate on speaking. But he had to, and his body ached with disgust and indignation. But he couldn’t subject Yuzuriha to this man’s need to ruin his life. “Y-Yes,” he admitted quietly. Seishirou hit him again, and it stung twice as much, and he could barely breath. “Yes!”  
  
Kamui exchanged a glance with her. She was still resolute not to budge. Furious, she balled her fists and turned away from them, and she walked in front of a clothes rack that blocked the back few isles of the store and the busy front area. For now, they truly were alone.  
  
The weight of his body left. Kamui breathed a sigh of a relief for a moment, but Seishirou gripped his shirt and yanked it over his head without giving him time to catch his bearings. Kamui blinked, all but dazed, hot and cold at once, realizing he was completely naked in the middle of a store and on all fours. While he absorbed that humiliation, Seishirou unclasped his belt and kicked off his own pants somewhere far off to the side.  
  
Seishirou reached into the rack. He pulled off a long-sleeved blue shirt. With finalized, drawn-out tears, he tore a long piece of the cloth apart. Then, he constricted Kamui’s wrists in front of him and tied a big knot.  
  
Seishirou knelt on the floor, and like their previous time, he laid on his back and looked up at him. Momentarily, Kamui was confused—did he want him to do the same thing as the first time?—but Seishirou had other ideas. He admired Kamui’s backside, and whistled at the way he looked at over his shoulder, his body angled at a position that seemed to beg for him to take him.  
  
“No, please,” Kamui begged. He didn’t know what he was asking for anyomore.  
  
“Stop complaining. You’re been acquainted, haven’t you?” Seishirou asked as though Kamui should feel completely at ease. “You weren’t very good last time—there was much to be desired. We have to try something different, so let’s see how you handle this.”  
  
Seishirou grabbed his hips, fingers sinking into the slender skin of his hips. Instead of facing his forward, he pulled Kamui backwards into him so his hands fell under his stomach and ass went higher. Without waiting or further instruction, he thrust himself into Kamui’s hole without preparing him.  
  
Everything seared with pain. Tears welled up in his eyes; he felt full, and his body couldn’t handle his thrum of Seishirou within him, the way his walls closed around him. He was as big as he remembered, and he recoiled at the thought that, yes, he was completely inside of him this time. Seishirou threw himself into him. He was exquisitely tight, and he hungrily took advantage of it, savoring each time he pushed past his limit. Kamui moaned loudly, gasping. To Kamui, it was shameful to let out those loud cries and give him that satisfaction.  
  
Kamui grabbed at his knees. He scrabbled to find a comfortable position. Seishirou clearly wanted him to sit up by the way he held him, and he straightened, body hunched over his legs and body faced towards Seishirou’s face. He bounced up and down, not meeting Seishirou’s rhythm fast enough, and the man helped him move. He glanced around himself, and to hopefully keep his voice down, Kamui bit onto one of the shirts in front of him. Fleece knitting blocked his mouth, and his jaw hurt, but he rather this be the alternative.  
  
Foootsteps walked by at that moment. Kamui saw them on the other side of the rack, and he moaned, muffled. Faintly, he heard Yuzuriha calling out to them—they couldn’t come back here—but the damage was done. The woman looked over the edge of the rack out of curiosity. Her eyes rounded, and she dropped the stack of clothes in her hands on the floor. She raced away without a word.  
  
Kamui’s cheeks flushed, not knowing what to even make of it. Seishirou chuckled behind him, elated and envigorated at the woman’s reaction, thrilled at the way Kamui whimpered and leaned farther back onto him. His body wrapped around him was leagues better than Kamui’s flimsy, virginal hand-job.  
  
“I didn’t know you wouldd be so excited to attract an audience,” Seishirou told him.  
  
Shaking his head, Kamui absolutely refused to answer him. He didn’t know what to do, but he was heart-stricken that the woman now would face the Sakurazukamori’s wrath. For her own good, she would be better off leaving him there instead of telling someone.  
  
But this still wasn’t enough for Seishirou to prove that Kamui was his to mark. In fact, the woman’s interruption gave him an idea. Seishirou went for his breast pocket. He pulled out a tube of pink magenta lipstick. He raised his arm and placed the tip at his back. Kamui kept bouncing, and the lipstick smuged, but he scribbles a few lines. Pink marks appeared on his back, and Kamui shortly realized he wrote kanji for “Sakurazukamori’s Property. Once he was through, Seishirou tubed the cap and threw it to the side.  
  
“Sick bastard,” Kamui growled, straining at the cotton sleeves holding his arms together.  
  
Seishirou hummed thoughtfully. “You’re no fun,” Seishirou told him. He grabbed both of his hips again and thrusted without mercy, short and fast. Dribbles of blood fell from Kamui and dripped onto his stomach. He inhaled the scent, intoxicated. “Scream.”  
  
The traitorous heat burned in his stomach, and the sensation of it was overwhelming. Kamui had to farther push the shirt in his mouth to keep his screams at bay. Still, some of it escaped, and he couldn’t stop it. His body was nerveless and brain foggy. He canted his hips, rocking back and forth. Each time he did so, Seishirou found him loving stroking his back, enclosing the curve of his cock each time he buried in deeper and deeper. For Seishirou, his heat was erratic.  
  
Kamui’s body shook. He writhed, and his body was on the edge of sanity. Inside of him, the man brushed something extra sensitive and sweet, and he crunched down on the shirt.  
  
Seishirou bent down and reached around him. He harshly cupped his cock in his hand, and the shirt flew out of his mouth, crying out at the touch, as he touched his swollen flesh. Seishirou kept up his steady rhythm.  
  
“Not yet,” Seishirou breathed in his ear. “I want you to enjoy this a little longer.”  
  
He stroked his balls with his body hiked up, hand landing at the end of his base. He squeezed. But his arousal was too much for him and couldn’t control himself anymore.  
  
Seishirou’s cock throb. Right before he came, he pulled out, the spray of come, hot and sticky, launching all over Kamui’s back. It mixed with the lipstick and squirted in a beautiful pattern that was art. Finally, Kamui couldn’t go any longer. He came hard, falling straight into the floor. His own come covered his stomach and carpet. Blood trickled down as Seishirou pulled himself out of him.  
  
“Much better today, Kamui-chan.”  
  
Kamui grunted and glared at him from the side. Seishirou didn’t say anything else. And in a mirror of the previous time, he slowly fizzled out of reality and left him there, broken and bruised and a puddle of shame.  
  
“I hope we make something more out of this,” he said, his voice fading as he disappeared. “I wouldn’t want anything to come of hurting your friends in the future, you know.”  
  
Kamui groaned. He hated his whole life. His fingers scrunched into the clothes around him, and he mumbled to himself. He collapsed. Everything was cold, dark under the rack, and he completely deflated. It was a miracle that they hadn’t been caught because they were at the back of the store, but… well, he supposed he could walk out with some dignity intact. That was, after he stopped hurting.  
  
Soon, he would get Yuzuriha. But he had to gather his own dignity first, at least a little.  


* * *

  
Back under the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building’s basement, Fuuma stretched his arms above his head. He glanced at the clock above the desk. Sometimes it was good to have a break for himself, even if he didn’t have much to do.  
  
Either way, it was better than the Sakurazukamori waltzing in. The man was uptight, rude, and aggressive, which Fuuma appreciated. But he also had a way of annoying the hell of him. It wouldn’t be a good idea to maim his own teammate for such a petty reason. So, he had thought a little fun would distract him for a while.  
  
Yes, he should be having fun right about now. He hadn’t expected him to want his other half more than once. Fuuma didn’t blame him, though. Kamui was beautiful in pain.  
  
The offer to allow him to have his way with Kamui served its purpose as long as Seishirou wasn’t so cranky when they next met.


End file.
